


Redux

by Belle_Evans



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, captain america: the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Evans/pseuds/Belle_Evans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve comes to terms, tries to make sense of the destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post-movie. There will be at least one more chapter, but this could kind of work as a standalone.

Falling. Plummeting, with nothing to grab hold of, nothing to stop his momentum, everything fire and destruction. Bucky, he thinks as he falls. A flail of limbs until his back and head impact. Bucky skitters through his mind once more before the force of the impact with the water takes his consciousness. 

_Drowning, I'm drowning_ …Steve Rogers fights to break the surface, jerks to get air into his lungs. Struggles to breathe, to open his eyes. And just like that he _is_ breathing. His eyes snap open as his lungs fill with stale air. The darkness gives way to more light than he's quite ready for. The air chills his skin. Uniform gone, he's been stripped down to his skivvies, which are dry. Blinking rapidly to let his eyes adjust, a quick survey tells him he's been out of the water for a significant amount of time. At the moment, he's in a cabin with reinforced walls and windows too small to offer much sunlight or easy egress or ingress. The space reads as some kind of safehouse or...cell. Had he any doubt in that assessment, the fact that he is restrained by his wrists, to a twisted version of a dental chair, with the same kind of device Rumlow tried to lock him down with in the S.H.I.E.L.D. elevator would confirm his initial read. 

Although the Avenger knows it will be fruitless, he spends several minutes trying to disengage his wrists. He takes small comfort that whoever brought him to the cabin, doesn't want him dead. At least not yet. With S.H.I.E.L.D. in shambles, the possibility that there's any sort of coordinated search for him is slim at best. He'll allow a tendril of hope, but he can't truly put all his eggs in that basket. 

§§§§

Steve startles out of a light doze or slipping consciousness to see a man, hunched against the door of the cabin. Bucky. It's disconcerting to see him in civilian clothes, looking all the worse for wear without the mask or eye black. Like in the street when he got the first good look, all he can do is stare at the apparition. There's been no real time to come terms with the full implication of James Buchanan Barnes being alive. 

“The exhibit. At the museum.” The words fall out in a rush.

The last time they spoke to each other, Steve was trying to avoid being beaten to death. He has no idea where this is going, but the other man isn't suited up or armed, a blessing. He hopes it means Bucky remembers, even a little, who they were to each other. The murderous glare under the ball cap however, screams nothing but the person he has come to know as the Winter Soldier. 

The Winter Soldier takes a decisive step away from the door toward Steve. The Avenger steels himself against a flinch. If this bastardization of his friend were going to hurt him, he would have let him drown. “He -,” the Winter Soldier stops like either he's not use to talking or not use to people waiting for what he has to say if it's not an order. “When he was falling, as he was dying, he....,” before Steve has time to register the true oddity of his former best friend talking about himself in the third person, there are warm, chapped lips over his. 

In a rapid succession, Steve's thoughts shift from why people think it's okay to just kiss him all of a sudden, to it's not people, not Natasha, it's Bucky. Bucky, and that makes a world of difference. He immediately understands exactly why Natasha was so critical. Steve's mouth surrenders to the full assault of tongue and teeth. It's an invasion that he finds himself more than willing to wave the white flag against. Sudden desire to touch makes his wrists jerk against the restraints. It like nothing he has ever experienced before. It's like being devoured. 

When the Winter Soldier pulls away, leaving Steve's mouth bitten and swollen, his entire body shivering, he whispers, _until the end of the line_ low against Steve's ear. The words sound foreign coming out of his mouth, laced with a subtle uncertainty. 

Maybe because of what they've both been through, maybe because in spite of what they've been through and against all odds they occupy the same space again, breathe the same air again or perhaps because Steve's become a little more a part of this era than he's realized, but for the first time those words don't sound to him like a pledge made between brothers. It resonates deeper, underscores something he never would have been able to conceive of when he was younger. Shakes him to the marrow. 

The intensity of Tony Stark's attentions in the last few years had made it necessary for Natasha to explain to him the concept of a 'man crush'. In his day, he thinks they just called it hero worship. Although he doubts Stark has any other hero, but himself. There had been a bit of that in his friendship with Bucky, before Dr. Erskine tilted the playing field to his advantage. He'd admired Bucky, spent all his time with Bucky. Loved Bucky with all his heart, in the way that was permissible, like a brother. As he dazedly licks Bucky's taste from his lips, tasting the copper of his own blood, it settles in Steve the facade is no longer necessary. Coming back to himself, his eyes dart around the room. “Bucky?” 

The Winter Soldier is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little better for Steve.

“I've done horrible things.” Steve wishes he could find joy in the absence of the third person, but Bucky not using it to take on the full responsibility for what HYDRA did to him, made him do, the anguish lacing through his hushed admission guts Steve. 

“Honey,” the endearment slips out, not meant to convey anything other than to comfort in the same way you would a hurt child. His mother used it with him a lot. There were a lot of hurts when he was a child. Pulling against the restraints on his wrist. Steve tilts his head trying to make eye contact. It's been at least two days he thinks judging by what he's been able to make out from the slivers of light he can catch behind the curtains. Two days since the Winter Soldier mentioned the museum, since some combination of that aberration and the man James Barnes used to be acknowledged he'd had a previous life. Kissed him. 

Those two days gone have not been comfortable. It's both blessing and curse that he hasn't had anything to eat or drink since his captivity. It's kept bodily functions to a minimum, but given the beating he'd already taken, coupled with the lack and restricted movement, it's not a situation that can go on indefinitely. S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't coming for him He has to work with what he has, a damaged man hunched against the inside of the door with a baseball cap pulled low over his stringy, dirty hair. His friend. “Bucky, honey listen to me. I know all of this is overwhelming. But it's not your fault, the things that have happened, HYDRA's done to you just about the worst thing that can be done to a person.”

“I was weak.” Steve flexes against his restraints. Dark eyes flick to his mouth, linger for a moment “And sick.” This time their eyes do meet and there is misery for the ages looking at Steve. 

“You aren't,” Steve says earnestly. “You were at the museum, right? You saw it yourself. The Howling Commandos, you're a hero. In the end, in spite of HYDRA, you saved me. You _saved_ me Bucky. You could have let me drown, but you didn't.”

The spectre by the door moves into the room until again he's directly in front of Steve whose hands reach uselessly for the other man. The Soldier's metal hand tightens into a fist, but his hungry gaze flicks over Steve's face, his barely clad body before lingering on his mouth again. 

“It's okay if you don't want to hurt me,” Steve says quietly. Metal fingers extend before clenching into a fist again, then without preamble the Winter Soldier drops to his knees. His troubled gaze never leaves Steve's face. “Bucky, it's okay. Everything will be okay.” Steve's rasps out. The metal hand squeezes the restraint around Steve's left wrist. Squeezes until it snaps. For a moment they are frozen in tableau. Steve waiting for the pain of crushed bones in his wrist to register, the damaged man waiting to see what Steve will do. 

The pain never comes. Steve extends his fingers, rotates his wrist as he surveys the purpling blue bruises left by the restraint. “Bucky, can you undo this one too,” he asks softly indicating with a tilt of his head. Instead of crushing the second restraint, the troubled man reaches for Steve's wrist with his non-metal hand. Traces his fingers over the bruising. A low, pained moan escapes him as he bends to press his mouth urgently against that skin. Steve flexes his fingertips against his old friend's cheek. 

“Bucky, let me go.” 

###

When Steve comes to himself again, he's naked on the floor of the cabin. It takes a moment for that to register. “Bucky,” he calls as he pushes himself into a seated position. He knows before the name is fully spoken into the air that once again he's alone. At least this time there is a marked improvement in his circumstance.

Technicolor images flash in his head as he tries to gain his feet. For a few moments he is helpless against the onslaught of _Bucky, Bucky. Bucky_ ravaging him. It's the only word he can think of as the vivid memory of his friend over him, pressing him down into the rough wood of the floor, the scrape of stubble and calloused hands over his face, his torso and his sex assail him. Stumbled under the deluge, Steve's knees buckle, unprepared for the ferocity of the passion. His hand makes an absent sweep across his body echoing the places Bucky left his mark after tumbling then both to the floor. 

 

The sheer overwhelm coupled with a feeling of loss make it hard for Steven to right himself. He's only just come to terms with the idea the he and Bucky are more, have always been more, but this...

Shaking it off, he grasps the most relevant thing in this moment. Bucky has set him free.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I couldn't see Civil War until the last chapter was done, and I really want to see Civil War. So it's done and now I can go this afternoon.

When Sam pulls the blinds up over his patio door, it's like deja vu all over again. Except this time Black Widow isn't with Cap. She _is_ still present in a way. Her voice filters through Sam's house from the television in the living room. Senate hearings on C-Span. As Cap, Steve kind of tumbles in an undignified heap through his patio door. “Natasha,” he croaks as Sam kneels down beside him, checking his pulse. “On tv. She's good, Fury too. You're the only one that's been...” No one has actually said it out loud, but they'd all thought Captain America was a casualty of this war. 

Sam reaches into his pocket for his phone. Cap is Cap but he looks like, well a guy that risked his life to save the world. A guy he thought was dead. 

“Hey, it's Sam. Can you come to my place. I need a hand with something, bring your kit.”

©©©©©©©©©©

“Wow,” ex-Corpsman Abigail Chambers gasps when she steps out of Sam's bedroom. A difficult adjustment to her prosthetic put her in Sam's path. Stepped on a landmine and lost her leg from the knee down, she's in one of Sam's support groups. She's a little starstruck. Sam can understand that.

“What's the word,” he asks quietly to get her back on track.

“Well, he should probably actually go to the hospital.”

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah, so since I guess that's not happening. I cleaned and patched up what I could. Anyone else they would probably be infected. He has a concussion, keep an eye on him. Wake him up in a couple of hours. Fluids, he's dehydrated. I don't think anything is broken. Maybe it healed already. I don't...mostly just bruised and really banged up. And he's Captain Freaking America, wow. ”

Sam can't help, but share a little bit of that. Yeah, Captain Freaking America, in his bed no less.

“Thank you Abby. I appreciate you coming out.”

She beams at him as she lets herself out of his home. 

After Abby is on the other side of the front door, Sam takes a glass of water in to his unexpected houseguest only to find Steve Rogers sound asleep. For a moment Sam just stands in the doorway taking it in. Captain America in his bed is probably the most surreal experience of his life. 

Steve's out for most of the rest of the day. Sam does wake him at intervals. At the last one, he is greeted with a semi-disgruntled and sleepy, 'I don't have a concussion'.

“You don't need as much sleep as the rest of us and yet here you are. Still sleeping.” Then he lays down beside his friend watching him drift off again. No reason to leave the room, if he had to come right back in a couple of hours. Moments later Sam is sound asleep as well.

©©©©©©©©©©

Steve's body tenses at the warmth on his face. Something is wrong. He's woken up cold the last couple of days. His body tenses, battle ready. Then he remembers free and Sam. Simultaneously, it registers that his face isn't just sun warm, his legs are tangled with someones.

 

 _Bucky,_ flits through his mind, but that isn't possible, unless...His eyes snap open to find Sam's back only a few inches in front of him. His and Sam's legs are entwined from ankles to thighs. The first instinct is to jerk away, but he doesn't want to wake Sam. This is the kind of thing that gets you court martialed at the very least, beaten down in an alley, left for dead.

He'd meant what he'd said to Bucky. It's not sickness. He knows that. In this time, he knows that. This is not quite the same. Sam is a comrade in arms. A colleague.

Warring instincts do battle. For the first time since his apartment was shot up, he wakes up with the knowledge that there is no imminent threat. 

There's temptation to draw closer to an embodiment of safe harbor, to Sam. To wallow in it for just a moment. It's been a hard few days. 

He thinks he's done pretty well in adapting for a man as out of his time as he is. However, there are vestiges of his pre-serum life that rears its head, both the good and the bad. The second instinct is governed by the antithesis of safety. From the negativity of his time that says disgrace and behavior unbecoming. Not a soldier. Definitely not heroic.

“Sleeping Beauty awakes.” There's no sleep rumble in Sam's voice. 

“How long have you been awake?” Steve tries to disentangle his ankles from Sam's without it seeming that's what he's doing. To no avail. 

“Long enough to hear how loud you're thinking. Definitely no concussion. I was thinking of getting up to get earplugs, but I'm kind of comfortable where I am.”

“You don't want to punch me in the face?”

“Leaving aside the fact, I'd probably break my hand on your cheekbone, comfortable. And I'm not in the habit of punching my friends in the face.”

A weighted quiet settles between them.

“Sorry. I wasn't taking a shot. Maybe in the future you'll do something that'll make me willing to break my hand, but this ain't it.”

Sam shifts over onto his back, disentangling their legs. Steve misses the contact instantly. “Are you okay?” 

It's on the tip of the Avenger's tongue to say, _Yeah, I'm fine._ , but in spite of their relatively short friendship, he thinks of Sam as someone he tells the truth, trusts. The truth is Steve's world has kind of exploded.

“He pulled me out,” he says quietly. Unable to help the small tremor in his voice. Out loud makes it real. More real. He's more tied to James Buchanan Barnes than he's ever been in his life. “Bucky pulled me out of the water.”  
**“What?”** Sam pushes himself up so that he can lean against the headboard. The assumption had been Steve never made it off the helicarrier. 

“The impact of the explosion, put me in the water. I lost consciousness when I hit. Woke up in a safe house. No, not a safe house, I don't think. I think Bucky might have been kept there. There were restraints.” 

“How do you know it -”

“He was with me, not the whole time. We, uh, talked.” Steve doesn't lie well and Sam can hear not a lie exactly, but not one hundred percent disclosure. 

“You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to.”

“I don't think...he's not all the way gone. I think he wants to come back. Come in.”

“He's not exactly incognito. He's got certain issues.”

“No, I know. I'm just trying to...He could have let me drown. What is it they say these days? I'm still processing.” 

“You want to try and process over breakfast.” 

“Cup of Joe?”

“Of course, breakfast of champions. I think I can scrounge that up.”

It's the beginning of a routine of sorts. 

They have their individual breakfasts of champions. They run _together_. Steve actually doesn't lap him. Sam thinks it's the healing, maybe the 'processing'. They're just two guys who jog the National Mall. Somehow Rogers manages to make himself seem small, regular, less. 

Sam knows from history what he was like pre-serum. It's unsettling to see it up close in a super soldier body. Not Captain America at all. People actually don't seem to recognize him hiding in plain sight. The baseball cap he jams on his head every morning before they go out is like some kind of invisibility shield. 

The whole time, Sam feels like there are eyes on the back of his neck. Maybe it's the combination of having Captain America beside him, and his recent stint, Avenger adjacent, but in public Sam feels watched. 

The running isn't entirely benign. They've done a little man on the street recon about the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. Eavesdropping on tourists and natives to see if what's said on the streets is better than the news sound bites, better than the Congressional vitriol. It's early days still so it seems neck and neck. They've also had one clandestine meeting with Nick Fury and one with Black Widow. It surprised Sam a little when Steve declined going with either of them. Both times, Steve just said to him 'processing'. 

They sleep beside each other at night. 

 

Natasha's testimony, and some choice words from Stark has given the Senate investigating committee all they need. The leaked information, the rest. Essentially they have all they're going to get, but they still want to hear it from the mouth of a real patriot. They want to hear it from Captain America, but this version of Captain America, doesn't want any part of his government.

©©©©©©©©©©

As Sam opens his front door, Steve calls from the kitchen, “I think we're gonna need to make a grocery run, rations are low.”

A joke should be on the tip of Sam's tongue about being eaten out of house and home by a supersoldier, but the disheveled dark haired man in his doorway, glaring at him keeps that from happening. The man who tried to kill him and millions of others apparently knows where he lives. Sam's not sure whether he should issue a warning or call for help. This is the prickle at the back of his neck. 

“Sam, do you want -” It takes less than a second for Steve to assess the threat level.

“Sam, step back,” Captain America says quietly. The Winter Soldier's laser scowl shifts from Sam to Steve. The fingers on both the Winter Soldier's hands twitch and Sam's grateful to see that neither one is holding a gun. 

“Step back Sam.” And because Sam isn't moving fast enough to suit him, the Avenger puts himself between them.

“Should I call someone?” Sam's voice drops low even though there is no one to call really, no one who could get to Sam's fast enough to render any useful assistance.

“No,” Steve says, eyes never leaving the menace on Sam's doorstep. “Bucky won't hurt me.” 

What's unspoken isn't lost on Sam. The Winter Soldier won't hurt Steve, there's no guarantee about Sam's safety. Everything in Sam rebels against leaving Steve alone. Even if he's more evenly matched with the killer than just about anyone else.

“I can't just -.” Steve turns around to look at Sam and it's not his imagination that his friend's cheeks are are a little flushed. That doesn't even happen when they run. 

"Please."

“Okay.” 

 

Once the door closes, neither Captain America or the Winter Soldier make a move. Both listening to the sounds of Sam's footsteps fading away from the house, neither taking their eyes off the other. 

 

As soon as they can no longer hear the tread of Sam's shoes, Bucky is on Steve, pinning him against the living room wall. Steve smooths his fingers across the furrows in Bucky's forehead. Tries to think of words that will make them go away. 

“There isn't anyone else. It's just you and me. You and me, like always right?” 

 

The furrows become less deep, before the other man drops his head to Steve's shoulder. Inhales him. Steve puts one arm around Bucky's shoulders, cards his fingers through his hair. 

“It's just you and me,” he murmurs against dark, matted hair. 

The metal hand anchors on Steve's hip. For all the mayhem it's caused, the touch remains surprisingly gentle. The flesh hand slips beneath the waistband of the sweatpants Sam loaned him. Steve arches, gives himself up to Bucky.

 

Forty-five minutes, Sam thinks as he takes up position far enough away not to be easily detected by hyper tuned hearing, but not so far that his house isn't a short distance away at a sprint. He considers calling Natasha, maybe even Fury. They could be closer than Sam knows, but in their sitrep with each of them Steve hadn't told the specific truth about how he survived. Instead of being pulled out of the water by an assassin, in his version, he swam to the shore before losing consciousness. 

If either Fury or Black Widow found Rogers' version wanting, neither of them called the Avenger out. They're both bottom line people. Steve was alive. That was it. If Sam calls Natasha, he'd have to offer some sort of explanation for not sounding the alarm sooner, for leaving Steve alone with The Winter Soldier in the first place. He's pretty sure Steve doesn't want him to do that. 

There isn't much of a choice then, but to continue being the kind of back-up Steve Rogers needs. At the twenty-five minute mark, Sam heads home.

©©©©©©©©©©

“I couldn't find the glue.”

The sand and beige Southwestern motif lamp Sam's mom gave him as a housewarming present is held gingerly between Steve's hands. It's been haphazardly duct taped together. The last time Sam saw it, it was on his table, intact. Sam glances at the table which is kind of crooked, no longer flush against the wall. A few of the books have fallen over onto their sides. The dining table is not exactly where it was before. The empty water glass that was on the table is almost wedged under the couch. 

The only thing that seems wrong with Steve is that his shirt is on inside out, his borrowed sweatpants are on backwards, and the look of absolutely being caught red-handed on his face. 

The dime drops. **Shit** , Sam thinks. As he rescues his mother's gift from Steve's hands, “So you and scowly, uh, 'talked'?”

The inside out V neck gets a pointed look. A blush the color of deep red roses flames Steve's cheeks. It's beautiful, maybe a little unsettling given the reason. Sam's glad to have followed his instinct not to call anyone. 

“I'm going back to my apartment.” 

“The place with the bullet holes in the walls?” He puts the dining table back in place, sets the lamp on top of it. When he straightens he's close enough to see a small bruise on his friend's neck. He knows what it is. The dime may have dropped, but it's a little unnerving to see physical evidence on his body. 

“Scowly not very happy that you're here, huh?” 

If possible the blush gets more pronounced, racing up to the tips of his ears. 

“It's probably going to get a lot more, you know, we um -” 

“What's a few broken knick knacks between friends.” 

It lays between them. Like the first morning they woke up more of less spooning, the kind of backup Steve needs is one without judgment. What happens on the battleground, stays on the battleground. 

“I will be forever grateful to you for everything you've done, I need - .” 

“You don't let go of the people you love. Even if you've been brainwashed within an inch of your life.” 

Tension eases out of the Avenger's shoulders. His secrets are as safe with Sam as he'd hoped. 

“What happened to him not being the kind you save?” 

“No one gets left behind. He at least remembered that. I guess I should too. But you know where I am. You always have options.” 

Sam smiles. The Avenger's stomach flutters. He's had the pleasure of waking up to that smile for nearly a week. The impulse hits strong. It isn't the 40s. He's adapting to the times. He goes with it. 

Stepping to his friend, “Thank you for your hospitality. Your friendship.” 

He closes the small remaining space between them by leaning in to kiss Sam's mouth. It's not chaste. Without hesitation, Sam opens to him. Now that he actually has something more concrete to measure against, it's good. Not primal in the way it has been with Bucky. It's still very, feel it in his toes, good. 

The man that Sam is, he knows they would be good together, in a world without Bucky. In an alternative universe. In this universe, the man who was always there for Steve is still alive. Needs him. They need each other. It means more than Steve Rogers can put into words to have his **family**. back. To have a second chance to love James Buchanan Barnes as completely as he thinks he was always meant to. 

Stepping back, the taste of Sam lingers on his tongue. His fingers trail against the other man's cheekbone. 

“Thank you.” 

“Anytime Cap.” 

©©©©©©©©©©

Steve stares at the one of the spackled holes in the living room ceiling. Some time in the aftermath, someone Natasha or Fury, maybe had the worst of the damage spackled over. He's grateful for it, but he was hoping for the work to provide a distraction while he waited.

Sleeping alone is strange. It's strange that it is. He's a little surprised to already miss the weight of Sam next to him. His company. In the evenings, they'd been going through his list, adding things, crossing out others.

It strikes him how weird the modern euphemism 'slept with someone' is for him. All he and Sam did was sleep together. Albeit, they gravitated in the night so that by morning there was usually no space between them. Then Sam would say something meant to relieve the tension Steve still felt when he first woke. He and this version of James Barnes definitely haven't slept together, even though the amount of sex in Steve's life has increased by leaps and bounds in only a few days. 

 

The third morning at his apartment, he's in the kitchen when his front door slams open against the inside wall. He hasn't bothered to lock it. It's easier this way. 

Bucky finds him easily, then hovers in the kitchen entry for a few seconds, watching him as Steve dries his milk glass. He looks a little bit better than he did a couple of days ago. They can go longer without eating than regular people, but they still need to eat.

“Do you want a grilled cheese?”

“No,” comes the terse reply. Then Bucky disappears. Noises come from the other rooms of the apartment. Recon. 

“We're alone,” Steve calls, but he understands Bucky needs to see for himself. Steve dries his hands on a dish towel before closing and locking his front door. Relief washes through him. Maybe now he thinks, maybe now Bucky will stay in from the cold. There's a sudden warmth at his back as he's pressed into the back of the front door.

“He hasn't been here,” comes out softly against the back of Steve's neck. There's a heartbreaking tentativeness to it. 

“Just you and me.” There's just enough room for Steve to turn around. As he does, Bucky's head falls into the crook of his neck. Steve's hands automatically find their way into his hair. 

“Come lay down with me. Like when we were kids.”

©©©©©©©©©©

Steve wakes with a start, naked on top of the bedspread. It hadn't stayed like it was when they were kids for long. There isn't any other way to describe the way he feels than well used, sated. Water running in the shower filters through his consciousness before disappointment at waking alone can take hold.

The shower curtain hasn't been pulled closed. It affords a view that sears into Steve's mind. Bucky, metal arm braced against the wall, head bowed as the water sluices over his hair, down his sculpted body. It's the first time he's seen him fully unclothed. It's breathtaking. There is the barest moment's hesitation, before Steve steps into the shower behind him. 

Bucky always had matinee idol hair. Now that he is free to touch, Steve can't seem to keep his hands out of it. Putting a little dab of shampoo in his hand, he spreads it into through the other man's hair careful to gently untangle as he goes. As he massages the shampoo into a lather, he presses a kiss against Bucky's shoulder. Whispers the last part of the true vow between them - til death do us part.


End file.
